The reason I am a staticky ball of anxiety — like, if you turned off the light, I’m sure you could see little lightning flashes around me — isn’t that I am having cold feet about returning to the Baby Factory, per se.
It’s PTSD from that horrible postpartum appointment with Dr. Russian. I was just like this before my last lady-parts doctor’s visit too, even though nothing terrible was on the agenda. Maybe I will always be like this from now on. Fun times for my lucky readers!
I realized talking to Sugar just now that the reason I wasn’t worried about my bloodwork visit the other day but I am scared to see Dr. Baby Factory himself is that I have in my mind that he will somehow yell at me about something. What he’d have to yell at me about, I don’t know, but then, I wouldn’t have thought there was a lot it made sense to ream out a limping, anemic mother of a six-week-old for, either.
In my actual brain, I know that Dr. BF is a kind, gentle man who will may even be happy to see us and want to see a picture or two of the Bean, seeing as how he was rather small last time they were in a room together. We’ll see if I can get my viciously tense body to listen to reason, but at least my brain feels better.